


Sleepless

by FriendNotFood



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Alternate Universes, Apocalypse, Dream World, Dreamsharing, Gen, Not Beta Read
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-17
Updated: 2019-06-04
Packaged: 2019-09-20 16:20:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,895
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17026029
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FriendNotFood/pseuds/FriendNotFood
Summary: When America was attacked on the streets of New York and shot, the doctors said there was nothing wrong, other than the wound. He begs to differ after finding out that he visits an alternate universe in his sleep. One that is in the middle of the apocalypse.





	1. Day 0

The day _it_ started was as plain as any other day. Sure, America was sort of upset with resent events, but it wasn’t an outrageous day by any means. It started simple, and ended simple, albeit different.

It was the last day of January, a meeting day. He’d gotten up to his alarm at 8 A.M., had breakfast, did any necessary preparations, and took a taxi to the meeting spot, which the G8 had prepared in New York. The actual assembly started at 10 A.M., discussing the regular problems, like global warming and economy. He had rambled on about robots and the like, and took the other nations teasing in stride. Like always, the nations gave way to their frustrations, and the meeting became less of a meeting, and more of an argument, where nothing got done.

The “meeting” ended at 4 P.M., to the relief of most of the nations. It was rather short, compared to most meetings, but Germany wasn’t feeling to good, and despite it being hosted in America, Germany was usually in control of when assemblies ended.

America had left somewhat happy, but he had a strange feeling of emptiness in his chest. Being empty was not an unfamiliar feeling for most nations, including him, but he had felt rather fulfilled earlier that week. Why now?

He decided to ignore the twinge in his heart and go out for hamburgers before inevitably coming home to a stack of paperwork, begging to be skimmed and signed. He took a taxi to a local burger joint that had sprung up about two months ago, eager to try a restaurant he had never been to before. In the end, it was just average, which was a huge letdown.

The restaurant was situated only a couple of miles from his temporary home, so he decided a walk would do him good. The walk only took half an hour, the only enjoyable or memorable parts being the cool breeze and alley cats. Sure, he had passed a few bars on his way, but he only cataloged them in his mind, knowing he wouldn’t get to go to them any time soon.

He entered his temporary mansion home at 5 P.M., rushing to his bathroom to shower, then his room to change into more casual and comfortable clothes. When he was done, he sat down at his desk, skimming paperwork, making and returning important calls, etc.

After a long 4-hours of work, America slid back in his chair, sighing. Paperwork was so damn boring! His neglected legs needed work, so he pushed himself out of his chair, grabbed his iPod from where it was charging next to his casual laptop and slid it into his jacket pocket. He popped the earbuds in and blasted music at deafening levels. It started his shuffle on some dumb pop song. It was repetitive and simple, but he enjoyed it, nonetheless.

It took him a couple of minutes to compose a mental map of where he wanted to walk, the safest places to walk in New York at 9 P.M., coming up with a simple path around parts of the city. Slipping out of his mansion, the New York lights shown so bright on the sidewalk they looked like the lights of god. A cool breeze ruffled his hair, and his cheeks flushed as blood rushed to his head. He felt kind of drowsy after hours of nothing but paperwork.

He walked along a less known path, watching out for drunkards along his way. He had brought nothing of value along with him, other than the coat on his back and his cheap iPod, both of which he had a good eye on.

Occasionally he saw groups of people in the alleys, often prostitutes or gangs. None of them approached him, luckily. He didn’t feel comfortable hurting or arresting his own citizens, and despite having no qualms about it if they attacked him first, it wasn’t fun.

As his walk started to get around the 1-hour mark, his pop music had switched to rock, and he had started to see more gangs. It was as good a time as ever to turn around.  
He pulled out his earbuds, listening to the ambiance of the night. There was a dog barking somewhere, there always was. Newspapers rustled on the corner of the sidewalk. Signs for clubs and bars buzzed as the shown brightly. There was a whisper from an alley behin- huh?

He spun around quickly, hands itching to reach into his pocket, to pull out his ever-present pistol. It was too late, there was a barrel to his head. He froze, a grimace pulling over his face. The person holding the gun was in the shadows, so he couldn’t get a good read on them, although they had a masculine appearance. They pressed the gun to his forehead, clearly wanting something he wouldn’t want to give them. He stayed quiet, waiting for them to speak.

Finally, after a minute of tense silence, another person came out from an alley near. He couldn’t get a good read on them either, but they had a thin body, likely belonging to a woman. She shuffled in her pocket for a minute, before pulling out a napkin and a bottle of clear liquid.

America froze, knowing what this meant. He whipped his hand in and out of his jacket pocket, pulling out his own gun, pressing it to the head of the masculine one. They stood in silence, challenging one another to move. None of the three moved. There was no sign of panic in any of them. Now that America was thinking about it, they both had the figures of people that had been at gunpoint before. They were both thin and tall, muscular without a hint of fat, strong standing, and unflinching.

Then the woman moved. America reacted instantly, firing a warning shot right next to her ear before ducking and elbowing the man in the stomach. He could barely hear the man’s weapon shoot over the blood rushing in his ears as he knocked the man back, to which the man stumbled a few feet. That was impressive, considering America’s strength. He must have been in the army, or a training camp of some sort. The thought made America cringe.

The woman rushed forward pressing the napkin to his mouth, while the man ducked to keep himself from getting dizzy. America, in a rush of adrenaline, shakily pointed the gun at the man, shooting. The bullet hit the man’s shoulder, and he bent down, holding his shoulder, letting out a pained whimper. America worked with the little recoil there was and pushed backwards into the woman, causing her to fall backwards.

He turned around to see her holding a shaking gun in her hands, tears streaming down her face. She was in the light now, and he analyzed her face. She was petite, but tall, with ribs and muscles showing threw her shirt. She had large blue eyes, currently leaking tears, and auburn hair. Her hands were shaking as she held the gun.  
He stared at her for another second, before she grabbed the napkin she had been holding and pushed it up to her own face, taking a large breath. Her eyes glazed over, and she fell back, eyes still open, and her head hit the pavement with a loud smack.

America looked at her, biting his lip until he could taste blood. If he could think in the rush, he would have called her a coward. If he could think, he would have noticed the crowd of pub-goers around him. He would have heard the sound of sirens. He would have felt the aching of his abdomen, were the woman had shot him.

He felt sudden dizziness, making it hard to stand. He stumbled a bit, before falling forward, hitting his head on the pavement, knocking him out.


	2. Day 1

In the fuzzy world he awoke in, the first thing he recognized was the shrill beep of a heart monitor. It was a familiar sound; he was somewhat medically knowledgeable.

As his vision started to clear, he looked around. It was a normal hospital, white all around, smelling like antiseptic. The equipment did look more advanced than what your average Joe got in their room, but that was because he was a ‘high government official.’

He thought back to when he was shot, and in a panic, he lifted the hospital gown he was in, only to see bandages wrapped tightly around his waist and hips. He let out a small exhale when he realized how lucky he was to wake up with his anesthetics still completely removing all the pain. His body would eventually heal, he was a nation after all – not even gunshots would mar his body for too long. That didn’t mean it wouldn’t hurt like the devil, though.

When the doctor came in, he had been awake for only a few minutes. The doctor gave a complicated answer on where he was shot, how to deal with it, etc. It was something he’d heard many times, by many different unknowing doctors, and he didn’t feel like listening again. The doctor told him he would be discharged this evening by “someone very important.” America understood very clearly that this meant some of his government officials had come to give him even more professional care.

All he had left to do was wait. Not to mention he was getting particularly drowsy. Who would mind if he fell asleep? It would only be a few minutes before he was picked up anyway. He would be fine! Yeah…

4^4

The first thing America woke up to, was a rush of nausea. He felt like any air that had previously been in his lungs was ripped straight out of his chest. He made a few desperate attempts to breathe again, only to realize he was inhaling chemical fumes. With no air to power his movements, he crawled forward, looking for anywhere he could possibly breathe, or open his eyes without fear of tear gas, or any other chemical in the air.

He didn’t know how long he had been crawling when he hit a wall. It could have been seconds, it could have been hours. At that point, it didn’t matter. This was a wall, which meant there was a possibility that there was a door somewhere. It wasn’t much to hope for, but it was better than thinking he was going to die. He groped around the wall, squirming as close to the ground as possible. With renewed purpose, he worked harder, but that meant he was losing air even quicker than before. Tears sprung free from his eyes, but he didn’t dare open them.

In a moment of miracles, he found a handle. It was flat and easy to grab, like ones in houses made for ease of use by disabled and old people; perfect. He jerked down and flung it open as much as he could push, and the door opened partially. Gathering all his remaining energy, he threw himself in the building and pushed back on the door to make sure he didn’t let the chemical gas in, whatever it was.

He spent a few moments collapsed on the floor from his exertion of energy. Taking the deepest breaths he could manage, he felt energy slowly flow back into his body. After what felt like hours, his senses started to work coherently again.

He was lying on a cement floor after crawling away from a dangerous chemical gas. Certainly not the strangest thing he had ever done, but hadn’t he just been in dozing in a hospital bed? That was what he remembered, that’s for sure. There wasn’t much he could do about it now, though.

He slowly opened his eyes, blinking back tears. He was faced with nothing but pitch black. A shiver ran down his back, but he ignored it to better analyze the unfamiliar environment he was brought into. The cold air ripping at his skin started to burn and the blackness around him only made him more scared. He smelled nothing but musk in the air, not too far from the smell of an apartment left to long unclean in rainy weather. It was suspiciously quiet, no sounds but the incessant drip of water somewhere inside, and an almost silent gentle creak of the walls around him.

Rising on unsteady legs, he pushed back his fear and put out his hands. He ran his hand along the nearest wall, stumbling to find something, anything. He lightly tripped on some sort of tool on the floor and almost crashed into the door in front of him, only barely catching himself with his hands. His hands pushed down on a handlebar, pushing the door it was attached to open. He slipped through the door, almost being blinded by the change in lighting.

As soon as his eyes adjusted, he scanned his surroundings, eyeing for anything suspicious firstly. The light that he had been struck with wasn't from an overhead light, it was streaming through a closed window. There appeared to be no power in the building, at first glance. He was surprised by how normal everything else seemed. He seemed to be in a kitchen, with a fridge and countertop on one side of the room, and an oven and dishwasher on the other. The sink was dripping. There were utensils spread out in a hasty manner on the cutting board, despite no food being there. The table was empty, except for a table with a vase on it. The vase was full of dead flowers, but their deaths looked rather recent. The kitchen was attached to the living room. From what he could see from where he was, it seemed normal too. In short, it was just an average American family household.

He almost called out, but he recognized that this would be a mistake. What family was going to be in a household surrounded by toxic gas? Even if they were here, how would they react to a stranger in their house? Steadily, he took a few careful steps into their house. His boots-when had he been wearing boots?-clunked on the hardwood floor, his sunglasses-likewise-sagged from in his hair onto his forehead.

The living room of the house was messy, but understandably. There was clothing tossed in random directions and an open pizza box; half full, his stomach filled in. The TV wasn't on, but it was pristine, like a newly bought or treasured item. Young children's toys were strewn about the floor in a uncaring way. It was strange that there was no one here. Clearly someone had used this house recently. It was actually a tad disturbing being in such a nice, domestic home for the first time in a long time, only for it to be empty.

He carefully scouted out the rest of the house. It had three bedrooms, assorted so obviously that he could guess what type of people lived in them. The room closest to the living room was down a hallway littered with pictures. The pictures showed a happy family, one mother, father, and daughter. At the end, there were newly placed pictures of two young children in matching onesies. America wasn't sure whether the pictures made this place more or less creepy. He finally reached the first door. In front of it were multiple taped paper signs saying things like "Do Not Enter" and "Private" in bright red ink. On the floor was a single sign that had fallen. It read, simply, "Grace". A frown pulled on his lips as he realized just what room he was about to enter and he backed away, not even thinking about going in the next bedroom down. He stopped at the end of the hallway, where a door opened to the bathroom. It was small, only holding a small shower, toilet and sink. Above the sink was a mirror, and he decided to make use of it to find out his condition.

Except the person in the mirror wasn't him. They had auburn hair, brown eyes so bright they almost looked red, and tanned skin. They had gloved hands, a dark jacket, and an broken emerald colored pendant around their neck. Their hair was mussed, their eyes had deep bags under them, and their face was scraped.

"What the hell?" America whispered to himself, but his voice wasn't the same. No, it was one of his many accents. A New York accent, with a small southern drawl. His voice seemed a little less accented because it was America speaking, but the accent was there, and strong, anyway. His lips twitched into a frown and he waved a hand in front of the mirror and the other person moved too. His fist clenched and unclenched as he took deep breathes. Yeah, this was funny dream.

Stepping out of the bathroom, he headed for the couch in the living room. There was no point in continuing this dumb dream. He threw himself onto the couch and blocked out his anger and the sound of the dripping faucet and closed his eyes. He eventually pushed so hard he fell into an uncomfortable sleep, but sleep nonetheless.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah, America here is based on his 2p
> 
> https://2phetalia.fandom.com/wiki/America


End file.
